


get your heart beatin', baby

by lanterngoesswingingby



Series: take me back to yours, that will be fine [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, basically close your eyes and it's a wee bit shippy, plus brian's Anxiety (tm), slight maylor if you squint, typical freddie and roger shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 03:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanterngoesswingingby/pseuds/lanterngoesswingingby
Summary: “Anyway, you really didn’t need to rush. It was honestly nothing,” he said, peeling at his chipped nail polish. Brian crossed his arms and leaned back slightly.“What was it, then? Sounded pretty desperate.”orfred and rog have a bad habit of over dramatizing situations. brian has a bad habit of overthinking. let the hilarity ensue.





	get your heart beatin', baby

**Author's Note:**

> if you didn't know, university challenge is a british tv quiz show, it's the tits x  
> also, this is dumb! hope you enjoy!

_get here asap. Need u_

That’s what the first text had read when Brian received it fifteen minutes before the end of his last lecture. He hadn’t seen it at the time – his phone had flashed up with ‘(1) new message from ‘Roger’’, but he refused to open it while still in class. It didn’t cross his mind for longer than a few seconds, anyway; Roger was renowned for double, triple, quadruple texting – his mind flashed back to a night in the summer past, when Roger had texted him exactly 26 times in order to locate him at the house party they were attending.

For that very reason, the second he returned to copying down the equations his professor had set them, he forgot all about Roger’s message without further prompting.

The 3 messages from Freddie on his way home had stalled him, however.

 _‘Where are you?’_ read the first. This was followed by _‘Get back now pls’_ , before a final message that simply stated _‘Brian?’_.

Brian felt a sick jolt run through his stomach as he finally opened Roger’s earlier text.

 _‘I’m coming now what’s happened? - bri’_ he typed, thumbs flying shakily over his keyboard. He knew he was panicking over probably nothing. Probably. Freddie and Roger were at their shared flat today, a cold and pokey little thing only a couple of tube stops from where his lectures were being held. A couple of tube stops, or a fourty-minute walk, or a ten-minute cab-

No. They were fine. The sensible part of his brain knew that if there had been a genuine emergency one of them would have called. Or at least, John would have. His thoughts flew unbidden to the time Freddie had burnt a line up the kitchen wall when cooking pasta. Or the time Roger gave himself a minor concussion and had locked himself in the bathroom for three hours. Or the time when even John, as sensible as he may be, managed to break the door knob off while trying to fix a new lock, leaving the three of them stuck inside the flat until Brian had eventually come over, armed with an actual locksmith and not just an undergrad engineer with far too many tools and far too much willing for his own good.

He realised slightly too late as he squeezed himself onto the rush hour tube that he would be unable to receive any text messages while on the underground and spent the following five minutes considering any and every potential incident that could have occurred in the Mercury-Taylor flat-share.

Which, unfortunately, was ample time.

The twisting knot in his chest only grew when he had not received any new notifications by the time he had tapped his Oyster card against the barrier. His steps increased, checking his phone every few seconds as he made quick strides down the road in the direction of the flat. Freddie and Roger had been living in the upstairs half of a converted terraced house – they had their own front door, which was a godsend considering the earlier issues, and a thin staircase led the way up to their one-bedroom apartment. They had two beds, of course – though Brian was well aware that they would push them together in the winter months where heating was not an affordable option.

The four of them, the weird little band consisting of Fred and Roger themselves along with Brian and John, had spent many a day and evening curled up in their little living area, which in fairness was lovely and homely, a little TV pushed up against the wall and a sofa just long enough for Brian to sleep on without getting a crick in his neck. It was not the most suitable rehearsal space – Roger’s drum kit took up most of the landing, and Brian and John had been forced to plug their amps in separate rooms and play standing in the doorways. Freddie, of course, had no issue with space, though Brian got the impression that if he were suddenly offered a stage a mile wide, Freddie Mercury would fill it with absolutely no hesitation.

It was dark now; the clocks had gone back an hour the week before and already the sun was beginning to fall. A handful of the streetlamps were switched on above Brian as he walked. The rest were likely broken.

He didn’t bother knocking when he reached their flat, instead sending a quick text to let them know he had arrived before reaching for his spare key.

“Fred? Rog?” he called up as he climbed the stairs, feeling self-conscious in the silence of the flat. If it weren’t for the strip of light under the door he would have assumed it was empty – but he knew that while they were occasionally frivolous, they weren’t stupid enough to leave the electricity running if no one was in the house.

Unless it was a real emergency—

“Hello?” His tone came out slightly strangled, heading for the door to their makeshift living room. Brian raised his hand to knock, before deciding to push the door open all together.

Sitting in front of the sofa was Roger. Behind him, cross-legged and covered haphazardly in at least three blankets, was Freddie. He had styled a purple one around his shoulders like a cloak. The room was lit by a standing lamp in the corner, and when Brian looked around for any signs of danger, he could see nothing out of place.

“Darling, what took you so long?” Freddie glanced up at him, before returning to his earlier task – which was, apparently, braiding Roger’s hair. The man in question raised his hand lazily but was content enough not to open his eyes, leaning back into Freddie’s touch and looking astonishingly like their cat.

“Wha—”

Brian fumbled for the words briefly, and Freddie raised a brow at his silence. “What the ever-loving fuck, guys?”

He noticed with a start that he was breathing quite heavily, and his fists were clenched. Roger opened his eyes, then, and gave him a once over.

“Oh. You look like shit.”

“Roger!” Freddie reprimanded, tugging gently at the bottom of the braid. “What did I tell you about being rude to Brian? Especially when he looks like he’s got no sleep, the poor love.”

Brian opened and closed his mouth rapidly, unable to figure out what to say to that. Both Roger and Freddie looked up at him expectantly, the picture of innocence. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply.

“For one, Fred, I slept perfectly well, thanks. It might have something to do with the fact that I just ran here on the first rush hour tube I could get.” 

Roger blinked.

“What’d you do that for?”

Instead of answering, Brian shoved his phone in their faces and let them scroll through the texts. Roger peered at the screen, getting so close his nose touched the glass.

“Hey, you never answered me, you prick. And why does Freddie have a star emoji next to his name?”

“Because I’m a fucking delight,” Freddie interjected, grabbing the phone. “Brian I apologise dearly but I don’t really see your point.”

“You made it sound like someone was dying. And for what? There’s fuck all wrong with either of you!” He ran his hands through his hair roughly before flopping on the floor, arse hitting a stray cushion.

Having shoved his face into his hands, he didn’t see rather than smell Roger crawl over to him – his hair had clearly been freshly washed because he was hit with a waft of apple shampoo combined with a vague hint of cigarette smoke. Roger wrapped himself around his shoulders, shoving his face into Brian’s hair.

“Sorry.” The apology was muffled.

“It’s fine,” Brian groaned into his palms. He had a hard time being mad at Roger when the anger wasn’t reciprocated. They could and would blow up at each other should they be pushed to that point, but with Roger latched on to him like some sort of leech he felt some of the frustration drain out, against his better judgement. Freddie cleared his throat.

“Anyway, you really didn’t need to rush. It was honestly nothing,” he said, peeling at his chipped nail polish. Brian crossed his arms and leaned back slightly.

“What was it, then? Sounded pretty desperate.”

There was a mumble from just above him, and Brian’s hair tickled as it moved.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Rog.”

“I said,” Roger lifted his face and perched his chin on top of Brian’s head. “University Challenge was doing a marathon and I wanted you on my team.”

Brian was flooded with both intense irritation and fondness. While the panic was absolutely uncalled for, it was a sweet gesture, if badly executed.

“But you know, fuck you, if we’re such a bother.”

Less sweet. Brian gave him a gentle shove, unable to stop the grin on his face. Now he looked, he noticed the TV was indeed paused, the title screen for University Challenge barely recognisable in the blurred image.

“Anyway, John already said that he wouldn’t be here for another hour,” Freddie said, “So we decided to wash Roger’s hair instead.”

“The shower’s broke,” Roger supplied. “Fred rinsed it out with a cup, was a laugh really.”

“The full Mercury Spa Experience!” With that, Freddie flourished his blanket ridiculously, the corner managing to hit Brian in the face.

“You’re both arseholes. When John gets here, I’m going on his team.”

When the blanket-cape hit him again, it was not even a little bit accidental.

**Author's Note:**

> this was first posted to tumblr - honestly, I started writing this while drunk and edited... never.  
> now accepting prompts on my [tumblr](https://lanterngoesswingingby.tumblr.com/), come say hi (if multiple reblogs of john deacon at montreal '81 and way too many personal posts are your thing)!


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